The NYC Files by Searcher and Journey
by journey1899
Summary: Mulder. Scully. Jack. Spot. The FBI's Most Unwanted goes back in time to help fight sweatshop labor.


One.

1.   
Archives Building   
Washington, D.C.   
8:57 PM   
  
FBI Special Agent Dana Scully zipped through what seemed like endless pages of microfilm footage. Her eyes were sore and numb with the fast motions of the screen. She turned   
the control knob slightly counter-clockwise to slow the reel, then pressed the knob down to stop it. Carefully cranking the knob to the left and then to the right again, she focused on the top line of the newspaper.   
  
NEW YORK TIMES July 21, 1899   
  
"Finally," she muttered. Tucking a strand of loose auburn hair behind her ear, she rolled the screen down, and found te article she'd been looking for. She grimaced as she read the article. A group of newsboys, or 'newsies' as the article refferred to them as, had gone on strike against William R. Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer, two of the greatest media persons of all time. Scully had collected, through the half a dozen articles in the NY Times, that the prices for the distribution personnel had been raised, due to the war efforts of that era.   
  
"Those poor kids," she said as she read on. Several young newsboys had been interviewed by a seemingly generous reporter. One who was known as Racetrack Higgins explained that none of the working children had the extra money to spare. Thus the injustice that another boy, who was called, "Kid Blink" confirmed.   
  
"You'd think that the owners of these great metropolitan newspapers would have enough extra cash to ease up on these children, at least for a while..."   
  
BRREEP! Scully jolted out of her studies. She picked up her cel phone from her jacket pocket and answered, "Scully."   
  
"Hi, it's me."   
  
"Mulder! Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for two days!"   
  
"Didn't you get my message?"   
  
She sighed. She knew where he was. "You're in Houston."   
  
"I was in Houston, yes. Then I went to New Mexico -"   
  
"For what, Mulder? Roswell autopsy videos or another chupacabra attack?"   
  
"You know, the locals had been telling me of more goat-sucking monsters -"   
  
"Mulder, where are you?"   
  
"I'm in a helicopter. We're supposed to be touching ground in Poland in oh, another three hours..."   
  
"Mulder!"   
  
"Yes, Scully?" he waited for a reply. There was none. "I'm meeting with the Sergeant-at-Arms of the UFO Center in Copenhagen."   
  
"I thought you were going to Poland."   
  
"We have to pick up Dr. Paoul Borowski before the meeting...so, what are you doing tonight?"   
  
"Oh, just my job."   
  
"Good for you, Scully. What's Kersh got you doing this week? More manure detail?"   
  
"You know me, Mulder. I joined the team of the FBI's Most Unwanted several years ago. Why should that change now, even though the other half of the team is off chasing hypersapien scientests."   
  
"You miss me."   
  
"I ache for you. We're supposed to be pulling our badges out at several Chinatown and Little Italy sweatshops tomorrow. But, given the fact that I have to do all the work by myself, it won't get done until Monday, at the earliest."   
  
"You know how much I'd love to spend a weekend in New York with you, but you see - "   
  
"Mulder? You're breaking up, I can't hear you!" Scully hung up the phone and reached for the dials on the microfilm machine again. "Maybe I'll get his pay and my overtime this week..." she thought to herself.   
  
Some time passed, and she switched from microfilm to indexes to books and to computer files before becoming engrossed in a book titled, "How the Other Half Lives." The agent was studying the Children's Labor Laws of 1902 when she glanced at her watch. 10:42. Sighing, Scully began to close up her work for the night. She put on her overcoat and left the large, glassed-in room that held the information relating to the turn of the century.   
  
Taking the stairs from the fourth floor proved to be a bit unsettling; only ghost lights were on throughout the upper stories of the building. The Archives closed at 7:30 PM to the general public, but government employees had access until 11:00. So she shook her feelings of vulnerability and proceeded down the dimly lit stairs. She turned a corner and saw a shadow move.   
  
"Who's there?" she called into the darkness. No reply. She slowly reached behind her and pulled out her .38. Pointing it towards where she saw the shadow, she stepped closer. There, the figure of a man stood, pressed up against the wall.   
  
"Don't shoot," he said calmly. "I just wanted to give you a little surprise, Dana, that's all."   
  
He stepped out of the shadows. She held the gun steadily on him.   
  
"Dana, what would your mother say?"   
  
"Krycek, you will tell me what you're doing here and if you don't, so help me God..."   
  
"You love threats, don't you?"   
  
She moved her finger to the trigger.   
  
"No! No, wait, Scully. I know you. I know you will kill me. You've shot your own partner. You're not to be tested," his charm was wearing on her nerves.   
  
"Look, Krycek, I still don't know what you're doing here. I do know you were behind Mulder's father's death and many more. Why are you here? Now?"   
  
"I just had a bit of information that might prove useful to your case."   
  
"What do you want, Krycek!" It was a demand, not a question.   
  
He laughed quietly. "This investigation you're doing. I know of a consortium, of sorts, that is abusing children. It has been for a century now."   
  
"Krycek," her voice warned.   
  
"Put the gun down and we'll talk. Before you go running your pretty little self into this ring, you've got to know who - and what - you're dealing with."   
  
Scully lowered her gun. "Talk." she said.   
  
Alex Krycek shook his head. "No, not that easy, Scully. I need a favor done before I can give you any more help."   
  
With that, she began to raise her gun again - this time, Krycek saw it coming. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her to the ground, knocking her automatic out of her hand. The gun fell down the stairs, while Krycek took off to the hallway. Scully scrambled to her feet, intentionally leaving the gun, and burst through the stairwell door to the hall. An elevator's doors were closing shut. She raced to the panels on one side of the wall, watching the Krycek's elevator's lights go down floor-by-floor, and frantically pressed the buttons. Nothing happened. She ran toward the stairwell and pushed the door open, and everything went black...   
  
  
* * * * * *   
  
  
"Hey, you, wake up!" a heavily accented voice called. Scully slowly opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. Her head was shooting pain from ear to eye to spine, and the rest of her body ached and felt bruised. Her eyes began to focus, and saw a short, round, putrid-looking man bent over her.   
  
"Frohike - is that you?" she mumbled.   
  
"Fro-what?" the man asked. "Da name's Weisel, Miss. Saul Weisel. You can call me Saul," he said, taking off his dirty hat to reveal a greasy, balding head.   
  
"Ohh..." Scully groaned. "I want Frohike."   
  
  


Two.

  
  
5:51 AM   
Manhattan, New York   
  
  
"Yeah? Well yer stuck wit' me lady. Get up," he ordered, looking her over suspiciously as he fidgeted with his cheap golden watch on a chain. He was going to be late.   
  
"What's with da clothes?"   
  
"What do you mean," she said, standing up slowly, her body sore all over, "'What's with da clothes?'"she asked, mimicking his nasal voice thick with a Brooklyn accent. She looked down at her dress clothes, then back up at him and shrugged, questioning him.   
  
"Lady, wit' all due respect, ya look like a man," he said pointedly.   
  
She looked down again at her usual black and white business suit, then looked dejectedly back at him.   
  
"What are you talking about? If anyone, you are the one that's a little confused with current fashions."   
  
"Excuse me?" He was obviously very protective of his appearance.   
  
"You heard me," she taunted. She reached back and touched her head lightly, wincing. "Oh , what's the point?" she said, sighing, "I've got to get out of here." She looked around, her surroundings. They were confusing and unfamiliar to her. They were in an alley between two buildings, but something seemed wrong. Something was missing. She turned back to this 'Weisel' character.   
  
"Where is here, by the way?" she tried to ask casually. He looked at her like she was from another world.   
  
"Uh, Lady, I think mebbe ya hit ya head, er somethin'. Ya'd bettah see a doctah," he said, nodding his head and talking slowly as if she wouldn't understand him. He backed up against a wall as she came closer, glaring steadily into his beady eyes.   
  
"Tell me where I am, or I will be forced to break your dirty-" She began, but was interrupted by a little boy that had been watching, unseen, on a fire escape above them.   
  
"Yer in Manhattan, Lady!" he said, worried that she would actually kill the older man. He scrambled down to them and tugged on her jacket.   
  
"Let 'im go, Lady. He jest didn't know what ya meant." She looked down at him. He, too, was dressed very strangely. She frowned, and her eyebrows scrunched together in a puzzled expression. What was going on?   
  
"What's your name, Kid?" she asked the boy, still staring at him uncertainly.   
  
"My name's Les, Les Jacobs," he said as he spit in his hand and outstretched it toward her, a hopeful look in his brown eyes. She stared at his hand, then back to his face and nodded.   
  
"Agent Dana Scully, FBI."   
  
He now looked confused. She looked up and saw the other man trying to steal away quietly in the other direction.   
  
"Hey! Wait!" she demanded. Where the heck is my gun? she wondered as she walked quickly over to the frightened, weak little man. She was still quite dizzy, but she managed to shove him up against the wall once more. He was her only hope of explanation.   
  
"Listen to me, you little weasel," she said as she stared him straight in his sweaty face.   
  
"Da name's Weisel, Mista Weisel ta you. Whaddya want with me? I gotta get to woik!"   
  
She relaxed her hold and looked him over once more. Maybe this was her chance.   
  
"Take me with you. I have to find Mulder."   
  
"Agent who? Ah, nevahmind, you can't come with me. No ladies allowed at da distrabution centah."   
  
"What?" she scoffed. Another male chauvinist, what's new? she thought.   
  
"Listen buddy, either you take me to your little 'distrabution centah' or I-"   
  
"All right, fine! Geez, settle down," he said shakily as he cautiously moved around her.   
  
"It's dis way." The boy and the man started to lead Scully out of the alley and in the direction of the distribution center.   
  
As soon as she stepped out of the alley and into the street, she experienced the immediate shock and then the flow of panic that follows when you realize you're lost. She stopped and inhaled deeply, trying to gain a knowledge of where she was, but was very disheartened when she had to accept her surroundings. It was New York. She looked to her left and saw the H.G. Kress Building staring down at her. To her right was a sign pointing to the southeast entrance to Central Park. At the same time, there were no cars on this street. There were no busses, no hot dog vendors, no newsstands. It was still dark out, but she could see well enough to know that the few carriages and carts on the street, the women in long gray and brown dresses, and the men in top hats were not in her time - they still in the century before her.   
  
"Hey, Lady! Ya comin'?" The little boy stopped and called.   
  
"Yes," she replied, collecting herself, and started walking again. She fell in stride with him, and felt guilty about threatening the Weasel man, especially in front of him. "So, your name's Les?"   
  
"Yeah," he replied. She looked down at him and tried not to laugh. He was so small, so mouselike with his clean but unbrushed hair sticking out from under his London cap. She smiled her sincere smile, which seemed to relax him.   
  
"So, Les, how old are you?"   
  
He hesitated for a minute. "I'm seven," he replied, thinking about the first bit of advice his mentor had given him.   
  
"What are you doing out this early in the morning? Don't you have school today?"   
  
"No, Miss, see, I gotta go to work this mornin'."   
  
Scully understood. "That's where we're going now..."   
  
"Yup," he said. "Usually my brudda David, he's olda, he usually comes to work with me. But he's got a bad cold, my mudda thinks it might be the flu. So I had to come to work by myself taday," he paused. "Why was ya gonna beat up Weasel? I mean, nobody likes 'im at all, by why beat 'im up?"   
  
"I, uh," Scully grasped for some justification of her actions, but was coming up short. Then she was distracted by a line of about thirty kids, mostly boys, standing and talking beside store fronts. "What's this?"   
  
"This is the Distribution Center," Les told her. Scully watched as Mr. Weisel pushed his way through the line as the kids taunted him. It was obvious he wasn't well-liked. Two other boys were inside the building, which she figured to be the Distribution Center. Les looked around, and waved at some boys, then left her to go talk to his friends.   
  
A commotion stirred behind Scully. She turned to see another thirty boys running around a corner, laughing and shouting.   
  
"The Cowboy rides again!" shouted a short but older looking Italian boy. He stuck a cigar in his mouth and punched another boy in the back, who, in turn, stopped and made several flourished bows and donned a cowboy hat that was slung behind his neck. He tightened the bolo and jumped up on a cinder block.   
  
"Extry, extry! Manhattan newsies defeat Queens at rummy!"   
  
With that, all the kids hollered and cheered, causing two boys to pick 'the cowboy' up and carry him to the front of the line. Upon reaching the distribution window, he rang the hanging bell three times and coolly leaned on the counter. "Hey, Mista Wea-sel..." he sang.   
  
The oily man opened the window and asked gruffly, "How many papes, Cowboy?"   
  
"Da usual!" the boy stated, slapping down a coin. "And anudda fifty for little Les, heah," he slid more money across the counter. Upon receiving the extra fifty, he handed a bunch to the little boy that Scully had talked with. Turning, Cowboy proclaimed, "Cheahs for da best sellin' partna in Manhattan!" Which led the large group of kids to cheer for Les.   
  
Scully furrowed her eyebrows. "They have got to switch to decaf. It's amazing they're not dancing in the streets..."   
  
She decided to get some answers. And the only adult around was Weasel.   
  
She made her way through the crowd of adolescent boys towards Weasel.   
  
"Hey! What'cha think yer doin'?!" yelled a boy as she cut in front of him, trying to get to the barred window. She turned around and shot a dark look at the boy. He saw her face and was dumbfounded. "Ah, I'se sorry Ma'am, I…I thought you was a guy," he said sheepishly, his hands reaching up and removing his hat, revealing his dark curly hair. She just shook her head and kept moving through the stream of boys.   
  
"Weasel," she said as she reached the counter.   
  
He shook his head, "You again. Whaddya want? An' how many times do I gotta tell youse, it's Weisel, Mistah Weisel. Now c'mon, yer holdin' up the line."   
  
"Look Mister Weasel," she said, sick of the man and wanting answers, "We're in New York, right?" He nodded. "And-" She paused, noticing the date on the papers that were stacked next to Weasel. The color drained from her face. 1899? Her head began to spin, and her hands started to tremble. She sat down shakily.   
  
The boy they called 'Cowboy' came over to her, having watched the whole conversation with interest.   
  
"Ma'am, ya all right?" he asked with concern.   
  
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said, sitting up from her slouched position, mumbling to herself.   
  
"This is a dream, it can't be real…"   
  
The older boy looked at her strangely.   
  
"What'samaddeh wit' ya? You feelin' all right?" Then, turning to Weasel, "What'd you say ta her?"   
  
"Hey, kid...What's your name?" she asked, her head clearing slightly.   
  
"They call 'im Cowboy!" piped in Les enthusiastically.   
  
Cowboy grinned. "Yeah, that an' alota uddah names, includin' Jack Kelly, which is what me muddah called me," he said, helping her up.   
  
She stood up slowly, her legs unsure. "Well, Mr. Kelly," she said, "I'm Agent Dana Scully of the FBI."   
  
"The FB-what?" Then, warily concerned, "You ain't wit' da bulls, are ya?"   
  
"The bulls?" Scully asked hopefully. This kid had to know about Michael Jordan.   
  
"Yeah, ya know, da police?"   
  
"No," the hope drained from her voice, "The FBI is the Federal Bureau of Investigation. But don't worry," she said, laughing slightly, "It's not going to be around for a while yet."   
  
He again looked at her oddly.   
  
"Okay, lady. Uh, you need somethin' ta eat? You seem a liddle…confused," he said slowly, not sure what was wrong with her.   
  
"No, I'm okay really. This is all a dream anyway," she said naturally.   
  
Now he was really worried. He thought for a minute, then said, "Okay, Miss Scully, or whatevah ya name is, you get hit in da head or somethin'?"   
  
She looked him in the eyes, "What does it matter? This is all a really bad dream. You're not real, Weasel isn't real, this is just my brain saying, 'Dana, you need a vacation'." She started walking down the row of incredulous boys. She came to the one she had cut in front of before.   
  
"Hello again. You know what? You're not real!" she said as she pushed him back with her index finger. She was obviously on the verge of hysteria.   
  
The boy backed away, obviously frightened by the crazy woman. She continued talking to no one in particular about dreaming, her head still spinning. She heard a familiar voice behind her. She turned around and gasped.   
  
"Mulder?" she said incredulously to the man in front of her.   
  
"Hey Scully," he said amiably. "I'm guessing this isn't Denmark?"   
  
With that, she fell into the arms of a very confused Mush in a dead faint.   
  
  
  


Three.

  
  
9:00 AM   
The Hilliard Room,   
The World Building   
  
  
"Ah, Mayor, good to see you again," Joseph Pulitzer reached out his hand and the Mayor did the same. After a weak shake, the Mayor looked up at the squinting man and smiled.   
  
"I want to thank you again for your recent...publicity towards the Governor. It gave us ample time to get our problems sorted out before the department was fully aware..."   
  
"No! No more talk of past. Consider us even."   
  
The Mayor smiled and nodded before taking a seat on the large half-circle couch, next to William R. Hearst of the Sun. After the arrival of two more of New York's VIP's, the conversation got underway.   
  
A rather large man who was referred to only as, "The Elder" conducted the meeting with the input of a handsome older man with a distiguished English accent called "Well-Manicured Man." Pulitzer sat back and followed everthing closely, blurting out his opinions and receiving harsh looks from the Elder. Hearst, on the other hand, quietly nodded and looked serious, as did the other two men, one who had been introduced as "Warden Snyder" of the House of Refuge, and the other, Arnold Kitzinger, who was apparently the governor's leak.   
  
"I have a concern," Warden Snyder began, after the plan had been proposed. All eyes turned to him, but he waited from the Well-Manicured Man and the Elder to give him the go-ahead to speak. "The House of Refuge - its heartbeat is the orphans and runaways. If we take these children away from the Refuge, into these, experiments, we may lose all of these boys and girls...and the Refuge would go under."   
  
A figure stepped out of the shadows. None of the guests had noticed him there, but immediately knew who he was. A trail of cigarette smoke swirled up into the air, as he slowly took the Morley out of his mouth.   
  
"Mr. Snyder," he began, the Canadian in his voice thick, "At the risk of speaking cliche, money is not an object in this project. We have plenty of funds in which to reimburse you for your sacrifice."   
  
Snyder nodded, and the Cigarette Smoking Man continued. "And, if reimbursement is not enough for you, we may throw in a bonus annually..." With that, Snyder smiled.   
  
The mayor spoke. "What area will this most affect? Will it be noticable? The newsies and laborers have been a part of this city for a long time..."   
  
"Think of it as," Pulitzer leaned forward, emphasizing his words with his cigar and free hand, "Think of it as cleaning up the streets."   
  
Nodding as if an answer had been given, the mayor sat back and closed his mouth.   
  
"If there are no more questions," the Elder looked around for anyone to speak, "let us talk about the implementing. We have the oil in containment in the Upper West Side. It will be planted in Brooklyn at exactly 1:09 PM, today, where it will travel to the piers and infect one of the leaders of the newsies. He will become the carrier. At approximately 2:20 today, two of the Manhattan newsies will be infected, leading to opening of the Newsboys Lodging House near Central Park. From there, hosts will travel to Harlem. Then we will meet again. We will contact you. Is everything clear?"   
  
The guests nodded. Snyder glanced around for the Cigarette Smoking Man, but could not see him. Directing his attention back towards the Well-Manicured Man, he lost his thoughts and involved himself with his role in the plans.   
  
The Cigarette Smoking Man slipped unnoticed to the streets. He walked down 42nd to Fifth Avenue, towards Washington Square Park. Pausing for a moment to buy a paper from a curly-headed gimp and throwing in an extra ten cents, he puffed while the kid said, "Hey! Thanks, Mista!"   
  
"Enjoy it today, Boy," he said, "For tomorrow...well, you know."   
  
The boy looked up, bewildered, and Cigarette Smoking Man turned to continue on his way.   
  
  


Four.

  
  
11:48 AM   
Newsboys Lodging House   
1107 W. 38th Street   
  
  
Images floated over her. She couldn't quite see who, or what, they were. It brought back hazy memories that frightened her. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.   
  
"Scully, can you hear me?" came a familiar voice.   
She tried to focus her eyes.   
  
"Mulder?"   
  
"Yeah," then, to someone else in the room, "Hey guys, she's coming to."   
  
Her head began to clear as she propped herself up on one arm. She was lying on a hard little mattress that was the bottom of a bunk bed. A small crowd was gathered around her, looking on curiously. Mulder was sitting in an old wooden chair he had pulled up next to the bed.   
  
Kneeling next to him was an older boy that she vaguely recognized.   
  
Seeing her inquiring glance, Jack said, "Heya Scully, it's me, Jack, remembah?" He had obviously been talking with Mulder.   
  
"Oh yeah, that's right, the Cowboy...where's Weasel?" This brought forth much laughter from the boys crowded around her. She looked back to Mulder. "Where are we, Mulder?"   
  
"New York City, Manhattan to be precise."   
  
"And the year?" she asked, dreading what she knew she'd hear.   
  
"1899. Anything else?" he asked, slightly amused.   
  
"Just one more. Why?"   
  
"I thought you'd ask that."   
  
"And..?"   
  
"I was also hoping you'd know the answer. I was in the air, we had just picked up Dr. Borowski and were heading to Copenhagen when something went wrong...not-so-long story short, now I'm in 1899."   
  
"Hmm, well, in my story, I think Krycek knows the answer."   
  
"What? Krycek?!"   
  
She nodded solemnly. Jack, who had been listening, confused, now broke the silence.   
  
"Ok, so let me get this. You," he said to them both, "are from another country or something, right? I mean...at's with the clothes?"   
  
"It's like this, Jack," Mulder said, facing him, "Scully and I are from the future, say, 100 years in the future," he let this sink in, expecting a big reaction. All he got was rousing laughter from all of the boys.   
  
"Yeah, an' I'm Teddy Roosevelt!" chuckled Racetrack, a new acquaintance to Mulder.   
  
Surprisingly, Jack was not laughing. He was just pondering something in his head quietly, his eyes far away. Mulder dismissed this as denial.   
  
Seeing that they weren't going to be easily convinced, Mulder decided not to waste his time. "All right, all right, fine. Scully," he said, turning to his partner, still sitting on the bed, "let me introduce you to our new friends."   
  
He walked over to the boys who were assembling themselves in a disorderly line.   
  
"This," he said, placing his hand on the short boys head, "is Les."   
  
"We've met," Scully said, smiling at the boy.   
  
"This is Mush," he said, standing next to the boy who was blushing slightly.   
  
"We've also met," she said, shaking her head, "Sorry about that, kid."   
  
He shook it off, embarrassed.   
  
"This is Racetrack,"   
  
"Higgins, right?"   
  
"Yeah," said the older Italian boy, "How'dya know dat?"   
  
"I read it...uh, just a good guess," she said, not wanting to confuse things.   
  
"This is...what's your name again?" Mulder asked the tall boy with sandy colored hair and an eye-patch.   
  
"Kid Blink, pleased ta meetcha," he said, spitting in his hand and then stretching it out to Scully.   
  
She shot an inquiring glance at Mulder, he shrugged. When she didn't accept it, he looked hurt.   
  
"Oh, no hard feelings, kid...Blink, that is," Mulder added, seeing his expression. "It's just that in our country, people don't do that so often."   
  
This seemed to satisfy him and he joined the line again. After all the introductions had been made, another boy, this one wielding a crutch and a few newspapers, burst into the room whistling happily.   
  
"Hey fellas, you'll nevah guess what jest happened," he started excitedly, then, seeing the agents, "Ah, sorry...didn't mean ta interupt nuttin'."   
  
"Heya Crutchy," Jack said, going over to the boy, "This heah's Scully, and this is Mulder, they're going ta be stayin' wit' us fer a liddle while."   
  
When he saw Crutchy about to spit in his hand, he whispered something in his ear and Crutchy quickly put down his hand, and nodded politely at them.   
  
"Well, Mulder," Scully said, sighing and rubbing her temples, "What are we going to do?"   
  
"Well, being new to this day and age...and country," he added for the sake of the boys, "I think we should let our new friend Jack give us some advice."   
  
She nodded her approval.   
  
"Well den," Jack said, leading them out of the small room, "I'se gonna say dat we discuss ovah some lunch. Anybody fer Tibby's?" A small cheer rose from the group.   
  
Scully ran her fingers through her hair as she stood up, shakily, with Mulder's help. He smiled a reassuring smile at her as he handed her her overcoat, and helped her slip it on.   
  
As they all filed out of the room, Crutchy, Scully, and Mulder were the last ones through the door. Just as they entered the hallway, Crutchy hobbled over to them.   
  
"Welcome ta America," he said slowly, smiling as if they couldn't understand, and then passed them and joined the stream of boys. Scully just shook her head. This was going to be an interesting day.   


Five.

1.   
  
12:17 AM   
Tibby's Restaurant   
East Villiage   
  
Kelly had called in an 'old friend' by the name of Bryan Denton during the events of the morning. Denton hadn't been available to meet them at the Lodging House, however, the newsies met up with him as they were leaving to go to Tibby's. Mulder was explaining the situation to him, while Scully quietly walked beside the two. She felt Denton glancing over at her every few minutes, which disturbed her. It did not disturb Scully as much as it did Mulder, though. He'd slyly rearranged the positioning of the three to where he was between Scully and Denton. Scully noticed this, and it made her laugh inside.   
  
The three adults were a few yards behind the boys, and when they entered the restaurant, most of the boys had taken seats. Crutchy was the most noticable exception, because he was calling out for everyone to pay attention to him. He was standing next to a man whose back was turned to the doorway. Crutchy's hand on the man's shoulder.   
  
"Lissen up!" he shouted, as loudly as he could. "Dis heah's da man dat gave dat extra dime taday!" The newsies commented loudly on how nice the man was, and the man turned to leave but stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of Scully.   
  
She blinked a few times, not believing what she was seeing. She'd suffered trauma to her head, and the rest of her body. She was stressed, very stressed. First she'd seen Krycek, now she was seeing Cancerman. This was not real. She turned to Mulder, who was now discussing turn-of-the-century alien abduction cases with Denton, who seemed to be engrossed. The man, who seemed to be Cancerman but could not be Cancerman, was briskly walking out of the restaurant, so Scully stepped aside, mouth dropped open slightly. As he brushed by, Mulder looked up, grabbed the man by the arm, and swung him around to a nearby table. As the man struggled to regain his flooring, Mulder pulled out his semiautomatic.   
  
"What the bleep are you doing here?!" Mulder yelled at him. "Why have you brought us here?!"   
  
By this time, a waiter with the tag "Wally" on it and Denton had grabbed Mulder. Kid Blink and Jack were pulling him back as well. Mulder turned to Scully, whose expression had turned from shock to disbelief of Mulder's actions. He quit fighting the men and boys, and the 'victim' escaped out the door.   
  
"Scully!" Mulder admonished her, "That was Cancerman! Why didn't you stop him?"   
  
"Mulder," she replied calmly, after seeing the frightened faces of all the patrons and employees of the restaurant. She stepped closer to him, so only the few nearby could hear. "Give me your gun."   
  
Mulder looked at her, halfway wounded, halfway angry, but handed his weapon over to her. She took it, slid the safety up and slowly put it between the back of her coat and her blouse, into her holster. She walked to a quiet corner table and was followed by the two men, and Kelly. Sitting down, she looked at the ashtray, where a cigarette was smoldering.   
  
"Mulder," she said, turning the tobacco stick around to reveal its brand name. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he read the label. Morley.   
  
They looked at each other from across the table. She raised a perfect eyebrow and he pursed his lips together.   
  
"C'mon, Scully, just say it," he prodded.   
  
She furrowed her brow and made a pained face.   
  
"Say it, Scully."   
  
She sighed and forced out, "You were right."   
  
"Now, was that so hard?" he asked. Denton and Kelly looked on, confused yet amused. "Let's go, Scully. We've got a Cigarette Smoking Man to catch."   
  
They excused themselves from the table and ran out the door, tailed by Kelly. Bursting out of the handcrafted door onto the now-busy East Houston Street, they split up, Scully running to her left, and Mulder to the right. Kelly paused for a minute, waiting to hear a call of the hunt, but there was none.   
  
Mulder took off down the road, but took a right up Second. He cursed Scully under his breath for not going with him, but quickly put it out of his mind. He didn't understand why people, when someone is very obviously running to or from something, decide to stop. That's what everyone was doing, stopping. He had to jump over small obstacles like fruit stands and children, and run into taller people. After a few minutes of not-so-hot pursuit, he stopped. And then, everyone else resumed their going. Now cursing irony, he looked around, panting. Some sort of street market, he settled, and then approached one of the vendors.   
  
He opened his mouth to speak, when he was tapped on the shoulder. Mulder turned around.   
  
"Sir, what seems to be the problem?" a policeman asked, making his suspicions apparent.   
  
"Uh," Mulder started, and then started laughing lightly. "This man - Cancerman - he, uh, well, he's ah..." Mulder racked his brain for plausible offenses committed by the Cigarette Smoking Man. As far as Mulder knew, he'd killed JFK, Martin Luther King, Jr., and about a dozen or so other public figures. Probably Elvis, too. But they were all from the future. "I guess...I guess there is no problem, Officer," Mulder smiled, trying to seem like a good American citizen.   
  
"What's your name, Son?"   
  
"Mulder, Fox Mulder, I'm a special - uh, I'm a special student of law, Sir. I'm a criminal justice major at, uh, in Virginia..."   
  
"Fox Mulder, eh?" he asked. Mulder nodded. "Let's take a trip down to City Hall."   
  
Mulder sighed. "Okay, Officer. Which way?" he asked, turning to the walk back the way he'd come. "I'm new around here." As the policeman began to follow Mulder, Mulder whirled around and punched him. The officer fell to the ground, and Mulder started to run back to Tibby's, but was stopped by street merchants and pedestrians. They held him while the officer handcuffed him and walked him the four blocks to the nearest police station.   
  
  
  
  
  
Scully ran down the cobblestones in her short heels, now very glad she'd taken Mulder's gun. Her blue eyes searched the streets as she rapidly passed carts and startled people and animals. She caught a glipse of a large man in a long, dark coat walking quickly, and she sharpened her veiw on him. She almost smirked when she saw a trail of smoke following the man. She pulled Mulder's gun out of her holster, pointing it to the ground with both hands. She continued to gain on the Cigarette Smoking Man, and, when she was in good range without any obstruction or people between him and her, she aimed at his head and slowed to a stop.   
  
"Federal Agent!" she called at him. "Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them!"   
  
Almost everyone in the streets and walks turned around slowly, looking at the redheaded woman with the gun. Ignoring the initial embarassment, she lifted her chin to look Cancerman in the eye. But she couldn't. The man who she was holding the futuristic pistol on was not Cancerman, but a grandfatherly looking gentleman. She lowered her gun, trying to breathe.   
  
"Oh, God," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Sir. I thought you were someone else," she tried to make ammends.   
  
The palefaced gentleman looked as if he were going to have a stroke, but he tipped his hat to her and went on his way.   
  
Scully retreated to an alley where she tried desperately to collect herself. Was this how it felt to go crazy? She'd seen many things. Many strange things, like flukemen and vampiric socializations in Texas and hybrid aliens and even dealing with the possibility that the U.S. government had stolen her ova and created a daughter. A daughter who was not meant to be. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered Emily, the frightened little girl who had been orphaned after the only parents she'd known died. That's when Scully had met her. Scully's heart told her that there was more to this beautiful child than met the eye, which led Scully to find that Emily was her child. Emily had to have advanced medical treatments to keep her alive, but Scully ordered the mysterious tests to stop, taking Emily into protective custody. A mother's custody. Shortly thereafter, Emily died. With the death of Emily, the only child she'd ever know, her heart stopped working the way it had been.   
  
Scully had dealt with a lot. She'd experienced things that normal people didn't experience, because of the X-Files. She was strong. Her whole life was built around her personal strenth, her emotional strength. She was mentally sound. She'd had the psych tests to prove that. She could get out of this realm and back into her life. Closing her eyes, Scully fingered the small golden cross necklace that she always wore. She breathed slowly, controlled, and taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.   
  
"Hey, you gonna be awright?" Jack asked, concerned.   
  
Now she was beginning to get angry. But she told him she was going to be fine. And he proceeded to tell her that he'd seen Mulder get arrested.   
  
Closing her eyes again, she tapped her heels and said, "There's no place like home." When she opened them, Kelly was looking more concerned than ever. "Nevermind," she told him. "Let's go bail Mulder out."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Thanking Denton again for the bail bonds, Scully turned to walk with Mulder out of the jailhouse.   
  
"Don't worry 'bout it, Denton's always bailin' us newsies out," Jack laughed.   
  
"So that's the rite of passage around here?" Mulder smiled. "Hey, Scully! I'm a newsie now!"   
  
"Mulder, promise me you won't get into anymore trouble until Hoover creates the FBI, okay? People are more lenient towards nuts with badges."   
  
"I did nothing wrong, Scully! They had absolutely nothing on me! Besides, I still have my badge...I can still flip it out..."   
  
She gave an exasperated sigh. She couldn't help a smile.   
  
"Let's pick up some food and discuss everything that's going on. And how to get back home," Mulder suggested.   
  
Scully and Kelly agreed, and the three headed back to Tibby's.   
  
  
  
  
  


Six.

  
  
1:09 PM   
Vine Street Piping & Heating Co.   
Brooklyn   
  
  
  
Marcos "Diablo" Santana raised his right arm to his opponent's face and let go. The man stumbled backwards and groaned, but grabbed Diablo's arm and slammed him into a table. Grateful the building was closed for 'inspection' later that day, the older man took hold of the boy's throat and pulled out a large flask.   
  
Diablo kicked and put up a good fight, but his strength was weaning. The man popped the cork on the flask with his thumb and raised it over the boy's head.   
  
Diablo watched the oily substance fall from the tube onto his face, painfully stinging him. He screamed, but only for a few seconds as the oil slipped into his dark brown eyes. A moment later, he collapsed, rolling off the table.   
  
  
  
  
  
1:12 PM   
Brooklyn Piers   
Alley near Fullton and Doughty   
  
Night shook his head, trying to erase the violent images dancing in front of his eyes. The Brooklyn newsie sat down quickly, not knowing if his trembling legs would support him. He quickly stood up again.   
  
"What am I doin'?!" he thought to himself. They might see him. He quickly ducked into the shadow of the neighboring building and started to run. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the awful picture from his mind. It slowed him down. He stopped walking and stooped down next to a pile of crates, completely hidden from sight. He leaned back against a brick wall, his heart pounding.   
  
"What was that?" he wondered, afraid of the answer. It hadn't been real. Couldn't have been. He closed his eyes, trying to forget. But he could only remember...screaming, horrible screaming. Spot's assistant, Diablo's eyes, they were...black? He quickly opened his eyes, not wanting to remember anything else. He had to find Spot, tell him, warn him. He got up, but didn't run.   
  
"I can't look suspicious...they might notice," he thought. But who were "they"? He didn't want to find out. He kept walking, making sure his steps were casual and even. He was almost to Spot's pier, a wave of relief rushing over him. A soft, salty breeze blew through his disheveled hair. Just one more corner to go. He was about to walk onto   
the dock when suddenly an arm shot out from the other side of the corner, catching Night in the throat, pulling him into the alley. He screamed, but it was stifled by the assailant's hand, shoved over his mouth.   
  
"Listen to me, very closely," the man said seriously. Night nodded, gasping for breath. He struggled to break free of the man's strong grip. The man removed his hand from the boy's mouth, confident that he wouldn't scream. This kid didn't want to be found by anybody.   
  
"Lissen, I don't know ya, ya got da wrong guy!" Night said hoarsely.   
  
The man ignored him.   
  
"You saw something, what was it?" he demanded, trying to find out how much the kid knew.   
  
"Nothin'! I didn't see nothin'!"   
  
"Don't lie to me kid. I'm trying to help you," he said coldly.   
  
Night calmed down a little.   
  
"Please Mistah, I gotta go," he tried.   
  
"Where? Who have you told?" the man asked.   
  
"No..no one, honest!"   
  
"Where were you going?"   
  
"To..please mistah…"he pleaded. The man tightened his grip.   
  
"Tell me!" he almost shouted, glancing behind him to make sure no one was there.   
  
"I gotta warn Spot! Theah was dis guy...he had dis stuff...his eyes..." he trailed off, shuddering involuntarily. The man just shook his head. He had been hoping that the kid hadn't seen anything.   
  
"Listen, kid," he said again, "You can't go to Spot anymore. It's too late. You get me?"   
  
Night nodded, horrified.   
  
"What do I do den? I can't go back ta Brooklyn," he said, a blank expression falling over his face.   
  
"I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go to Manhattan and tell Jack about what happened. It's your only chance, kid," he said sternly.   
  
Night nodded, willing to accept, but not understanding anything.   
  
"Go to Jack, understand? There are some people there, you won't know them. Give them this message," he said, handing a neatly folded piece of paper to the boy who took it slowly.   
  
"Yeah, I gotta tell Jack...Manhattan is safe?" he asked, frightened.   
  
"For now. Go!" he said harshly.   
  
Night turned to run, then looked back suddenly.   
  
"What's ya name, Mistah?" he called.   
  
"Go!" he shouted again. Night nodded and turned back. He quickly blended himself into the crowd and disappeared like the man had thought he would.   
  
This was his last chance too.   
  
Night quickly made his way through the streets heading for the Lodging House in Manhattan, his heart still racing.   
As he turned onto a new block, he saw some hurried movement out of the corner of his sharp eyes.   
  
It was Skittery and Specs! He looked around to make sure no   
one was following him, and then ran full speed until he was right behind the two boys.   
  
"Skit, Specs," he said breathlessly, almost inaudible. They both quickly spun around to face him.   
  
"Night? Whatsamadda?" Skittery asked, concerned. Brooklyn newsies never came to Manhattan unless under Spot Conlon's orders.   
  
"No..not heah, let's go somewheah else," Night said, looking around with paranoia. "Wait," he said after thinking. "Wheah's Kelly?"   
  
"He's back at Tibby's," Skittery said, pointing toward Houston Street. Night took off back towards East Greenwich Villiage at top speed.   
  
Reaching Tibby's fifteen long minutes later, he paced outside the door, trying to catch his breath and his thoughts. Not wanting to waste more time, he opened the door into the establishment and scanned the tables. There was Cowboy, sitting with two nicely dressed adults.   
  
"Breathe!" he commanded himself. He approached the booth. "Kelly," he said as calmly as he could. "I gotta tawk to you. Alone."   
  
Jack looked at Scully and Mulder and decided it wouldn't be safe to leave them alone for long, so instead, he motioned for Night to join them.   
  
Night obliged, only very hesitantly.   
  
"Scully, Muldah, dis heah is Night, from Brooklyn," he said, while Night sat down.   
  
Suddenly Night was overwhelmed with the vision of Diablo and the oil. He panicked and lost whatever composure he'd gained.   
  
"A man, he...gave me dis fer you..." he couldn't finish, but handed them the somewhat-crumpled note with his trembling hand.   
  
Jack looked at the note and pushed it over to Mulder.   
  
"Can you explain dis?"   
  
Mulder took the note, scanned it briefly, then handed it to Scully. On it were plain instructions to go to apartment #33 on 1013 Mott.   
  
"X," Scully said with disbelief.   
  
Mulder nodded in agreement.   
  
"But I thought that-" Mulder waved her off, looking closer at the boy.   
  
"What did you see, kid?"   
  
Night just got up and shook his head, his hands shaking at his sides.   
  
Scully gave Mulder a disapproving look, then turned to Night, "It's okay. You can tell us, we're going to help you." She took his hand. It was ice cold. She gently pulled him back into the booth.   
  
"Now tell me, Night, what did you see?"   
  
"It was terrible," he said, on the verge of tears.   
  
Scully nodded, "Go on."   
  
"Theah was dis guy...he had dis stuff wit' him. He took it an', an'...his eyes..." he couldn't finish. Convulsions of terror shook his body as he remembered what he had seen. It was enough. Both the agents took in this shocking piece of news without a visible reaction. Kelly didn't know what to think.   
  
"We gotta tell Spot den," he said to Night.   
  
"No!" Night protested vehemently. "No...da guy said it was too late. Dey already got ta Spot," he said, gulping.   
  
"I don't undahstand," Kelly said, obviously confused by the events of the day. "Who are dese people?"   
  
"C'mon Cowboy," Scully said as she pushed the chamomile tea away from her. Mulder put a couple of dollars on the table and slid out of the booth, Scully after him.   
  
They started to walk, beckoning the boys to follow.   
  
"Take us here," Scully said, pointing to the address on the   
paper, "We'll explain on the way. If we can."   
  
  
  
  


Seven.

  
2:14 PM   
Conlon's Pier   
Water Street Docks, Brooklyn   
  
  
Kid Blink laughed as Boots told his famous Brooklyn tale to him again. "Dat's why dey call a night a month heah in Brooklyn!" Blink and Boots said together. Blink lowered his voice, "Hey, we beddah be quiet, Boots, dey get real protective when it comes to da land dey love."   
  
"Like a dog!" Boots joked. Blink found this hilarious and laughed again loudly.   
  
"Shhh, Kid," the smaller African-American boy said, copping an attitude. "We's heah."   
  
Blink straightened up his back and picked his head up as they drew near to Spot Conlon's territory. If they demanded enough respect from Spot's newsies, they'd be less likely to end up in a fight. And no one wanted to fight Brooklyn.   
  
The boys stepped onto the bridge, Blink silently wishing he had two good eyes to stare the tougher newsies down with. He hoped that his eye patch made him look tough, that it made him look fearless. But this was Brooklyn. Spot's 'boidies', as his spies were called, knew everything about everyone, especially the fun-loving Manhattan newsies. They knew their personalities, and they knew that Kid Blink was one of the most easy-going, friendly newsies in Manhattan, and probably all of New York. But he played the part well, as did the much shorter and younger Boots, who knew how to get in good with Spot and his newsies. "It's all in how you play your marbles," he always said. "But even more in who you give 'em to."   
  
As they stepped onto the narrow boardwalk, they knew something was wrong. Spot sat atop his throne, a tall and wide post, staring down at them. He didn't move, he didn't smile, he didn't speak. He didn't even smirk. He just stared, watching them walk down the boardwalk.   
  
Blink tried as hard as he could to not make a gulping sound as he swallowed, and not to be noticeably intimidated by the harsh glares of the newsies, and the stone-set jaw of Spot Conlon.   
  
Spot nodded ever so slightly, which caused four of the largest newsies to grab Boots and Blink. Spot jumped off his post and slowly walked to them, pausing a moment. Boots gasped in horror, not believing the grotesque liquid swirling in Spot's eyes. Boots closed his eyes quickly and looked at Blink, who was breathing heavily and looking at the Brooklyn leader with the terror to match Boots' countenance.   
  
"Spot? What's wrong wid your eyes?" Blink asked, forgetting he was being held back.   
  
Spot did not reply, but walked past them. Their captors turned them around and walked back down the dock and up to an abandoned second-story room in a buisness complex.   
  
"Spot, what're ya doin'?" Blink pleaded. Boots was silent out of frustration. "Spot! Stop! NO!" he shouted as one of the thugs punched him. He fell against a wall and was out cold. Boots fought the tears in his eyes as he watched Spot stand over his friend and a black oil being poured into Blink's eyes.   
  
When the task was finished, Spot turned to Boots.   
  
"Please, no, Spot! What'd we do ta ya? Please! PLEASE, NO! NO!" he screamed, being held back. Spot didn't have the decency to punch Boots' lights out. Painfully, the ooze dripped into his cornea, then down to the even more sensitive retina. He felt himself panicking, losing all knowledge of everything - he was being taken over. He collapsed to the floor out of exhaustion.   
  
  
  


Eight.

  
  
2:15 PM   
1013 Mott Street   
  
The trio walked almost silently up the three stories in the dilapidated apartment building. It seemed as if only a handful of people lived there, it was so quiet, but there were signs of families everywhere. Mulder concluded that everyone in these families worked. Even the kids. He looked over at Scully. She was thinking about something that was apparently very heavy.   
  
"Whatcha thinkin' about, Scully?" Mulder asked softly.   
  
"Emily," she replied, even more softly.   
  
He remembered the girl, barely four years old. Her face had the same shape as Scully's, and her eyes were almost the same shade of blue. Her hair was ash blonde though, like Scully's sister, Melissa. He remembered when the girl went into a coma, and Scully decided that it was unfair to Emily to live a life of experimentation. That was the first time Scully had ever told him he was right.   
  
"I can't let other children suffer like she did," Scully said, her voice just above a whisper. "This can't happen again."   
  
Jack had listened to everything that was being said that day, he was quiet and reserved. Man, if Spot had seen him this way, or Dave...but all his newsies were good with it. They respected him more than anyone. The problem was, he believed Mulder and Scully. He didn't want to believe them, but he had...what was the word? Commitment? No. Conviction, yeah, that was it. Like he had during the strike.   
  
They exited the stairwell and looked for a number thirty three on the door, but there was none. Instead, it was obvious that a number thirty three had been on the door at one time. An outline of the dirty numbers mocked the attempt to be plain door. Instead of the numbers, there was a hand-drilled peephole and a piece of paper tacked up reading, "Temporary Offices of the Publication, The Magic Bullet". Upon reading this notice, Scully and Mulder each shot glances at each other. Mulder knocked on the door.   
  
The door opened and they walked in. Jack wondered if he should wait outside, but decided to join them. His curiosity was growing.   
  
"So, you found us," a long-haired blond man said. He put up the thick-framed glasses onto his nose and sat down on a chair. "Like our locale? Chinatown suits us, don't you think?"   
  
"Yeah, Langley, we parked in your space, hope you don't mind," Mulder said sarcastically. "Jack, this is Langley," he nodded toward the strange blond-headed man, who was wearing a "Mean People Suck" tee shirt. "And Byers," he pointed to a taller, thin man with a clean-shaven beard and mustache in a suit. "And who could forget Frohike?"   
  
"Certainly not the lovely Agent Scully," a short, bald man said, eyeing Scully.   
  
"Frohike, why are you wearing your bullet-proof vest?" she asked, not flattered.   
  
"Safety first," he replied, not shaken.   
  
Scully looked over to the window, where a large X had been marked on the window. They'd called Mr. X.   
  
"Collectively we call them The Lone Gunmen," Mulder told Jack. "This is Jack Kelly, from Manhattan."   
  
Barely acknowledging the seventeen-year-old, Langley said, "You know, it bites, Mulder. I can't be a hippie in this century."   
  
"Yeah, but you can be a geek in any era," Mulder replied, noticing the window.   
  
Byers sat down at a table with two laptop computers. "Solar-generated battery, homemade. The worst part about this was we couldn't work at night, but I rigged an energy storage compartment on the room. I just hope the pigeons don't get curious."   
  
"So how'd you get here?" Mulder asked pulling his attention away from the marked window.   
  
Byers turned to him. "We were monitoring the activity over the DC satellite system."   
  
"Satellite transmissions recorder," Frohike said. "It's not illegal because the Narcs don't know it's been invented."   
  
"We were alerted to an anomoly over the 209-211 area. We investigated it and it seemed that the the time-space continuum had been disrupted," Byers finished.   
  
"The time-space continuum?" Scully questioned.   
  
"The force that keeps chronology and our dimension synchronized," Langley explained.   
  
"I'm very familiar with the theory. But that's all it is. A theory. There's no scientific evidence to prove it's existence."   
  
"There's no scientific evidence to prove otherwise," Mulder said pointedly.   
  
"With a little bit of study, we were able to easily recreate the phenomenon."   
  
"Easily," Mulder repeated. "Right. Like Podunktown farmers recreating crop circles. Do you think you can make a stable   
passage back into our time?"   
  
"Working on it," Byers said, tapping away on the small keyboard.   
  
"I must say, I'm tempted to stay here and start the information age early," Frohike said.   
  
"Yeah, who needs everything else that the next century has to offer?" Mulder asked. "Look, we've got some business to attend to in Brooklyn, okay?" The Lone Gunmen waited for the rest of his request. "It seems as if Cancerman's at work here, we've seen him around. You know that black oil that you wrote issue #74 about?"   
  
"Yeah," Langley said, silently hoping for more.   
  
"CSM is here, running tests on orphans. Using street rats as guinea pigs for the experiments."   
  
"That makes sense," Byers remarked, and by the look on his face he was serious.   
  
"Hypothetically," Scully tried to change the subject. "We suppose you've seen X, too."   
  
"X?" Frohike looked at the others, who shook their heads. "Negative, my lady, why?"   
  
"The X on your window," she countered.   
  
"There was a crack in the shape of a Y," Byers told her. "We decided to make it an X. You know, for the X-Files."   
  
"How did you know to expect us?" Mulder asked, confused.   
  
"We got your note," Langley told them.   
  
"Our note?"   
  
"The one that said you were on your way...it was less than an hour ago. Some kid brought it to us."   
  
"For the record, we sent no note," Scully told them, leaving.   
  
Mulder, Scully and Kelly left as dumbfounded as the three men inside.   
  
Walking back down the streets to the Brooklyn Bridge, Jack decided to let them know what was on his mind.   
  
"Hey, for da record, or whatevah you said back dere, I believe you guys."   
  
"Thanks, Jack," Scully said.   
  
"That means a lot to us," Mulder told him.   
  
"Yeah, well, just don't go actin' crazy anymore an' I can get my boys to help ya howeva ya need, okay?"   
  
"We'll play it straight." 

Nine.

  
  
2:53 PM   
Bleeker and Cornelia Streets   
  
  
"So Blink, wheah we goin?" Mush asked, confused as to why the other boy   
had remained silent the entire way from where he had met him outside of   
Medda's to where they were now, somewhere around Washington Square.   
When he didn't answer, Mush got worried.   
  
"C'mon Blink, wheah we goin? Whatsamadda wit' you taday?" he asked,   
concerned.   
  
When Kid Blink again did not answer, Mush stopped walking. Like he had   
expected, Blink turned around. Instead of answering him, Blink came at   
him slowly. The shadow of his hat fell over his eyes, masking the   
terrible truth that lay in the darkness.   
  
"What? You mad at me or somethin'?" Mush asked, getting irritated by the   
other's silence.   
  
Blink moved closer and grabbed Mush's arm.   
  
"C'mon Blink, you know dat I could take you any day. Let go of me arm."   
Instead of letting go, his grip tightened painfully.   
  
"What are ya doin', Kid?" Mush asked, fear in his voice.   
  
Blink wrenched his arm back, causing Mush to cry out in pain and   
surprise. He pinned him up against a wall, no one was in sight. Mush   
tried to kick him off, but Blink was surprisingly strong. With his free   
hand, Mush grabbed at Blink's face, trying to get him to loosen his   
hold. His fingers caught the brim of Blink's hat. It fell to the dirty   
ground. Mush stared in horror as the shadow fell away from Blink's face.   
  
"Kid,your eye…" Blink didn't let him finish. He threw him to the ground   
with an unnatural power. Mush lay there, paralyzed with fear. He   
couldn't move as Blink held him down, couldn't move as he looked into   
the terrifying blackness of Blink's eye, couldn't move as he felt the   
oil painfully seeping into his own eyes. All he could do was scream as   
his mind entered into oblivion, and his thoughts fell away into the   
harrowing darkness.   
  
  
  
To be continued. 


End file.
